


Life's A Funny Proposition After All

by hepsybeth



Series: Give Those Kids and Me the Brand New Century [1]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, i saw a post on tumblr about 1920s newsies so like, just cause, more like a series of mini stories set in this decade, this won't be a full on story per se
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 12:30:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13717731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hepsybeth/pseuds/hepsybeth
Summary: "Crutchie Morris was in something of a pickle, but that tended to happen when he went along with the inane ideas of his friends."





	Life's A Funny Proposition After All

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a single story set in an eventually 1920s-era universe that I'll write. They'll probably eventually turn into One Big Thing, but for now I have no idea what a Plot is. This'll just be the first in a series of short stories set in a 1920s newsies world lol
> 
> Also, my headcanon has always been (at least since I saw the 92 movie) that Crutchie's German. There's no deep meaning behind it, but I had a friend whose surname is Morris only because it got fucked by his grandparent's immigration (it used to be Moritz), so yeah. Lots of people immigrated in the US in the 20s, and that's my own thing. Idk what the generally headcanon is for all the newsies' ethnicities, but I'll do what I can.
> 
> Title is from "Life's A Funny Proposition After All" by George M. Cohan.

Crutchie Morris was in something of a pickle, but that tended to happen when he went along with the inane ideas of his friends.

Granted, it wasn’t fair to blame them for being in this situation in the first place. He was well aware of the reckless ventures his friends would participate in, had seen the purple bruises and thick bandages, had heard the grandiose stories about how they had dodged death yet again by the skin of their crooked teeth. Jack himself had outgrown the antics, declaring himself the resident adult and that he “ought to do adult things” and Crutchie should have followed suit since they were fairly close in age.

But he didn’t. Because who didn’t like a little recklessness every once in a while?

Regardless, he was here. Tied up in a chair in the cold basement of some rickety dilapidated house after being caught by some fancy-suit types who had roughly grabbed him and forced him down here. They probably didn’t believe him to be much of a threat— after all, he did have a dramatic limp and he was mostly pale skin tightly pulled over thin bones— so they left him down here alone without anyone watching over him. All because he was trying to steal some fucking liquor.

Fair enough, it wasn’t his liquor and those men had every right to feel bitter about it since it belonged to them. But, they got the liquor back. Crutchie had only barely grabbed a bottle before they caught a glimpse of him.

Also, it was the first day of spring today and dying on the first day of spring would be a terribly lousy way to go.

So, Crutchie waited. He whistled a few long tunes and tapped his left foot for longer. He recited half “The Vampire” by Conrad Aiken and then rolled his eyes to himself because, of course, he would think of morbid poetry in the wake of certain death.

He attempted to take a steady breath to relax his nerves. He wasn’t ready to die, he really really wasn’t ready to die, but it wasn’t going to help whatever case he might invent if those men walked down to see him a sobbing mess. Crutchie wasn’t inclined to give them the satisfaction. He never gave the Delancy’s the satisfaction, so he wasn’t going to cave to these guys.

He tapped his foot harder to compensate.

He wasn’t aware of how much time passed, especially because there were no windows down here, but the dreaded sounds of heavy footsteps eventually came. The door to the basement opened and light poured into the place where Crutchie was held. The still and imposing shadows of the men were almost painted onto the wall where the light shone and if Crutchie wasn’t in the position where he was in at this moment, he might even appreciate the artistic nature of it (he was sure that Jack would).

But he was in this position. And he dug into whatever remaining reserves of calmness he had because he wasn’t going to lose his grip. Not here, not now, especially not in the face of death.

The shadows of the men became larger and Crutchie finally saw their faces. Two men wearing similar black suits and black fedoras stood before him, each with a different emotion displayed on their equally grim faces. One had large, almost sleepy, black eyes and he radiated an almost palpable aura of authority. The other man, lankier than the other two, was smoking a lit cigar. He wore an eyepatch and his lone grey eye locked onto Crutchie’s light brown ones. Crutchie tried not to stare back.

“How’s about you start tellin’ us your name,” the man with the sleepy eyes began, his deep voice filling the room. He crossed his arms and gestured his head at the man beside him. “Then we can decide what t’ do with you.”

“And don’t even think about lyin', ya got that?” That voice came from the man with the angry grey eye. The cigar was in his fingers now and he flipped it around carelessly as he spoke, small red sparks flickering as they fell from they fell from it. “My friend here can sniff out liars.”

Crutchie supposed that saying that his name was “Crutchie Morris” wasn’t going to satisfy them in the slightest. So honesty it was.

“Emil Morris,” he stated, pleasantly surprised that his voice came out so steady. If he managed to get out of this, and he thought this quickly as to not jinx it, he was gonna tell Jack straightaway about this careless misadventure But, for now, he was gonna have to hope that the scent of his middle name “Emil” smelled like the truth.

“Emil? That’s, what, German?” the man with the deep-voice asked.

Crutchie wasn’t sure if he should answer that.

“You should answer that,” the angry man said around his cigar.

“Maybe,” Crutchie said, not exactly a student of linguistics. “My pa’s German, so maybe it is.”

The one-eyed man narrowed his one eye for a second before resuming his original look. Crutchie wasn't sure what that was about.

“I knew a fellow named Emil,” the first man said.

“Oh?”

“He was a back stabbin’ sonuvabitch.”

“Oh.”

“I’m giving you the chance to argue for the good-nature of all men named “Emil”, understand, else I might kill the next Emil I come across.”

 _Delightful_ , Crutchie thought.

“Who do you work for?”

“What?” Crutchie asked, unsure of what to think. He didn’t think that was the direction these men were going on. “I don’t understand—”

“Who are you in cahoots with, kid?” the impatient voice of the angry-eyed man came. “Johnson? Rossi? Someone we ain’t heard of?”

“I don’t work for no one!” Crutchie explained defensively. “I don’t know either of those names, alright?” Crutchie stared at the leader in the middle. “That sound truthful to ya?”

The man grunted and Crutchie was at a loss because he was never one to be able to interpret grunts. That was more Elmer’s area. “What reason, then, did you have to try and steal our liquor?”

“In this day and age, who isn’t trying to find an easy way to acquire fuckin’ alcohol?”

“You ain’t in the best position to be makin’ jokes.” The one-eyed man scowled around his cigar.

Crutchie sighed. “It was a dare my friends came up with. It wasn’t the right thing to do and I apologize, honest.”

“You always do what your friends tell you?” The leader spoke again.

“It was a _dare_ ,” Crutchie emphasized. His foot tapped even more, echoing across the cold and damp room. “I, uh. I dunno. It was stupid. Sometimes I get my head in the clouds and such. But, you still have it. I ain’t walkin’ away with anythin’ of yours. I’d just really prefer it if I didn’t die today.”

A tense silence followed shortly after Crutchie said that and he shivered as the three eyes of the two men watched him. Maybe he had overstepped his bounds?

Crutchie tenses even more after the man with the sleepy eyes laughed. The laugh was the loudest thing he had heard in a while and it took every bit of strength that Crutchie had to keep from flinching.

“You gotta funny mouth on you, kid.” The man wore a smile on his face, the wrinkles on his face shifting as his smile widened. “And, I’ll admit, we did come down here with the intention of riddin’ ourselves of any future problems. But, you didn’t lie. I respect that.”

Crutchie raised his chin at that. Maybe that’d make him look even more respectable.

“You didn’t lie,” the man repeated. “And you kept your head. Most men that find themselves down here have already pissed away that day’s drink.”

“Or beggin’,” the angry man added.

“Or beggin’,” the first man agreed. “I despise beggars.”

“So…” Crutchie began. Breathing was becoming easier and he felt himself relax into the chair he was tied to.

“So,” the man said. “How’s about I let you off with a warnin’ or somethin’? I’m feeling generous today.” He nodded at the one-eyed man. The nod obviously held some meaning as the man began walking towards Crutchie with a knife in hand.

Crutchie couldn’t help his flinch as the man cut the ropes holding him with one stroke. The ropes fell from his chest and he moved his arms to his chest, massaging his wrists. He took a deep breath, becoming suddenly overcome with emotion. He took another deep breath because he wasn’t going to break down now, not when he was practically home free.

“Thank you, mister...uh,” Crutchie racked his brain, trying to remember if the man had ever said his name.

“Denton,” the man said. “My name is Mr. Denton to you. This is my associate, Mr. Baletti.”

“Thank you, Mr. Denton,” Crutchie said. “And Mr. Baletti,” he finished, looking up to the man standing beside him. He slowly got to his feet and thoughts ran through his head. How the hell was he gonna leave with a good impression if they saw his limp? He had lost his crutch in the scuffle and he wasn’t sure if they still had it.

“You gotta good head on you, Morris,” Mr. Denton said, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “I’ve met a good deal of men of my life and somethin’ like that is hard to come by.” He paused and nodded, as if to himself. “You ever find yourself in this neighborhood again, go to Paula's Palace. I’m a regular there. I can get you a job, easy.”

Crutchie didn’t need glasses like Specs, but even he couldn’t have seen this coming. “A job?”

“Did I stutter?”

“N-no,” Crutchie stuttered. “I just, uh—”

“The word is “thanks”, kid,” Mr. Baletti said.

“Thanks,” said Crutchie. “Thanks. So, can I go?”

“You can go.” Mr. Denton gestured to the stairs.

Crutchie took a deep breath and started walking. He knew he was limping, even worse without his crutch, but he didn’t care at the moment. Crutchie had a spare crutch back at Jack’s place, but that wasn’t important. He was fucking alive.

“And, Morris,” Mr. Denton said as Crutchie finally reached the bottom stairs. Crutchie turned and looked at the man whose face was darkened under the shadow of his fedora.

“You ever try to steal any of my alcohol again, I will kill you.”

Crutchie nodded numbly and hurried as quickly up the stairs as his legs would allow. Eventually, he was out of the basement, and then out of the house. Panting, he gripped the door handle and slammed it shut. As soon as the door was closed behind him, the sky opened up with a deafening crack and the first rain of spring poured from the sky. Soon enough, Crutchie was soaked under the warm raindrops and he whistled.

He had a hell of a story to tell.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, I love Crutchie and if I always told myself that if I were to ever write a Newsies fic, the first would be about him!
> 
> Also, I hope characterization is good. I always hated the headcanons that Crutchie is fragile or timid or innocent or always Sweet when, uh, he's a strong kid who's gone through shit. I like the idea that he's just as reckless and stubborn and brave (and snarky) as everyone else. Yeah, he's a nice kid, but he's also got nerves of steel imo
> 
> Also also, this series'll be a mix of 1992!Newsies and Musical!Newsies, since 92 was my first love but the musical means so much to me. So, characters from both'll be here. Especially Bumlets. Bumlets is showing up somehow.


End file.
